Nine

A wounded dream lay bleeding.

It stains the foolish lies.

The world is quite a different place

Seen through a failure's eyes.

The sun was slipping past the line of poplar trees to the west of the grounds, and the long shadows that had stretched across the cluster of tents were dissolving into dusk. A chill was settling in the park, now forsaken by the sun, as countless birds preparing to roost for the night twittered snugly in the trees.

As Andrea walked alone toward the exhibitor's parking lot to bring her van in, she passed a couple talking softly as they leaned against a pickup truck in a world of their own.. The man was touching her face as he spoke, and her eyes were soft and contented.

When Andrea passed the row where Torry's booth was, she glanced down the grassy aisle and saw Torry and his wife in the distance packing up their pottery by twilight.

An oppressive loneliness seized her. Jack had abandoned her, even before he killed himself. Mark would marry another this weekend. And Torry; the whole thing had been a fantasy from the beginning. Joni and Claire had men that loved them, but Andrea had no one; and now her dream of finding something to fill the empty space in her life had proved to be folly.

She drove slowly back to her booth between the row of tents, past people in twos mostly. Once or twice along the way, she saw a lone figure packing artwork, but Andrea imagined someone waited at home, someone that shared their hopes and fears.